Bionic Arms and Reality TV
by Spurlunk
Summary: When Bucky wakes up, he's disoriented and completely confused. Darcy decides to help him acclimate to the new world he's woken up to, and find his own place in it.


Bionic Arms and Reality TV

He didn't know what he had been expecting to see when he woke up but it definitely wasn't this. He thought it was a dream, a half remembered memory – it was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't, layers of programming and brainwashing obscuring and fogging his thoughts.

"Winter Soldier," the redhead said. She was very good at wearing a perfectly controlled mask but he saw the flicker in her eyes, he knew her too well.

"Bucky," the blond one said. He took his one good hand and held it tightly, as if he could show him how much he cared by how hard he held him. As if holding him would keep him from falling apart.

"Leave me," he said in Russian, and everything faded to black.

When he woke up again a man called Nick Fury told him how he had arrived at SHIELD. They had found him frozen and abandoned after the Soviet Union collapsed, but could not find a way to deprogram him until now. They weren't even sure it had really worked, which was why he was restrained to his bed with straps made of something even his metal arm couldn't get through. As Fury talked, he listened, but didn't say anything. He just wanted to be alone. No one had given him a choice in any of this. Not that he had expected one. He was told that Natasha Romanoff (Natalia, and he thought of blood dripping onto fresh snow) and Steve Rogers (there was a story about being frozen in ice and the thought that was probably as plausible as anything else) wanted to see him. He refused. He just wanted to be sedated, because sleep and wakefulness both meant thoughts, dreams, pieces of memories he couldn't sort out. They left him alone.

The next time he woke up, the restraints were gone and someone had dressed him in black pants and a white T-shirt instead of a blue papery hospital gown. He reached up with his normal hand – he'd been shaved and his hair had been cut. He remembered it being almost down to his shoulders, but he wasn't sure when or where that had been true.

"Hi."

He was out of bed and on his feet in seconds, pinning the short, dark-haired girl to the wall with his metal arm before she could blink.

"Can't – breathe – "

Oddly enough, he found himself letting her go. She rubbed her throat and glared at him.

"Is that how you say hi to everyone, or is it just me you try to murder by strangulation?"

"Who are you?" he asked – in English, and with a slight Brooklyn accent, to his own surprise.

"Darcy Lewis. I don't really work for SHIELD. I'm Jane's intern. But they told me what was up and I did a really good job with Steve so they asked if I wanted to help you. Though I guess you're a little different than he is – you've been asleep for what, fifteen years? The Soviet Union collapsed in … okay, so twenty-three. Twenty-three years. Not as much as seventy, easier to bring you up to speed."

She paused, and he just blinked at her. She was certainly different; he had to admit that much.

"So what do you want to do? We can watch a movie, or I can show you the Internet, or we can take a field trip – we'd have to sneak out, but I think we can pull it off."

"Do you always talk so much?"

Darcy nodded, grinning. He found a pair of boots and a worn brown leather jacket in his size hanging over a chair and put them on. He put out his arm in a ladies first gesture and they headed out.

Memories were triggered by seemingly innocuous things – a flash of red hair, a car backfiring, the smell of stale popcorn, a little boy crying. Darcy's incessant chatter kept him anchored, as she explained the concept of reality TV.

"I mean, there's the obvious mainstream stuff like Jersey Shore and the Real World – which I don't think anyone cares about anymore – but you can also watch stuff like Hoarders and Toddlers and Tiaras and be happy that no matter how much your life sucks at least you don't have cat poop all over your house and your mom isn't forcing you to be a pageant queen."

"I don't think – "

"See? You're lucky!"

He hadn't really considered that point of view, but he supposed Darcy was objectively correct.

"Come on, let's go get some burgers, you haven't eaten anything since before I was born."

It was a small, crowded restaurant – a little dim and dirty, but Darcy assured him that the food was cheap and delicious. She said the cheap part was especially important, because she was an unpaid intern and though SHIELD had covered a lot of her living expenses, she was sending money home to her mom who had a disability that prevented her from working outside the home.

"Are you like Steve? Did your parents die when you were a kid?"

"You're very blunt."

Darcy shrugged with a small, apologetic smile.

"Yes. We grew up in an orphanage together. I was there first; he came when he was eight. He was raised by an aunt after his parents died, she had to give him up because he was too much for her to handle with all of his sicknesses and allergies and … you know. Well, you probably don't. They changed all that."

"He talks about you a lot," Darcy said, playing with a French fry and looking up at him curiously. His face became blank again and he stood up, the chair scraping against the floor.

"What, aren't you going to finish that?" she asked, putting some money down on the table and jogging a little to catch up with him as he almost let the door slam on her face.

"Not hungry," he said, and she was panting as she ran a little to match his long, steady steps.

"Can you slow down? I don't really work out or … do anything besides eat Pop-Tarts and make sure that Jane remembers to sleep."

He did slow down, but only a little.

"Where are you going, anyway? Please slow down," she started, but he stopped in his tracks so suddenly she rammed right into him with a soft 'oof'.

"I didn't mean that slow – " she said, and he grabbed her shoulders, holding her still away from him. He saw her flinch at the cool touch of his metal arm, and wished he'd had a chance to find some gloves someplace.

"What do you want from me, Darcy Lewis?"

He met her when she was a girl. She didn't stand out to him then, just another thin girl among a sea of similar young women, all with matching faces trying their hardest to be blank and cold. Some pulled it off better than others; some could not disguise the admiration, anger, hatred or sadness from their eyes. He was there to train them, the best of the bunch picked out by those in charge – the same ones who had taken him off the cold ground and put him back together again, filling his mind with memories and instincts that he trusted as if they were his own. They didn't give him the younger girls; he was presented a half-dozen teenagers who looked to be about sixteen. He worked with them one on one - they covered hand to hand combat, weapons training, espionage, torture methods. Some of the girls weren't good enough. Some moved on. He chose three, and then weeded out two, and finally he was left with one. Her name was Natalia, and her hair was her most striking feature, though at fifteen she already displayed the stunning beauty that she would later learn to use as a weapon.

She didn't talk much, displaying a single-minded focus towards learning what he had to teach her that he admired. The program did not teach that focus, she must have already had it in her. He asked her once, whether she was a dancer – something about the way she moved had an innate grace and understanding of the way the body worked struck him as reminiscent of a dancer or an acrobat. She wanted to be a ballerina, she said, and he thought maybe that's where her drive for excellence came from. She wanted to be perfect, she wanted to be the best, and she would single-mindedly pursue her goal without any regard for anything else.

He didn't train her for long – soon enough she had surpassed him – or at least become his equal. He had the advantage of the metal arm; she had the advantage of being smaller, quicker, and more flexible. Once she started winning their sparring matches as often as he did, slamming each other against the mat – kicking, punching, clawing, biting, neither of them held back and they both used their weaknesses against each other – he was removed and put back on ice. When he woke up again, she had graduated and was working for the same people who he was working for. They were partnered together and sent out on missions – mostly assassinations, though a few were simply surveillance or intimidation.

They never had heart to heart talks; they never poured their feelings out to each other. They had a relationship that was suited to their needs – they worked together seamlessly, as if they were one person sharing two bodies, and at the end of the day they fell into bed together, taking care of the needs that couldn't be met through their work. He knew that it couldn't last, and it didn't. It was his fault, really. They had taught her well, she knew not to get emotionally involved when the mission was at stake, but he – well, he wasn't sure who he was half the time. The programming was slipping, sometimes he got flashes of a person who seemed very familiar, a swaggering, confident young soldier who had two normal arms instead of one metal one – it confused him, leaving him disoriented. He botched an undercover mission. She was seducing their mark; he was watching, waiting to make his move – and then – well, at the end of it their mark was gone, three civilians were dead, and Natalia had him on the ground, a gun pointed at his forehead.

They put him back to sleep after that, for a long time.

"I don't want anything!" Darcy squeaked. He didn't let go.

"Okay, well that's a lie. I want you to let me go because I have a taser and I will use it on you, even if you are a confused ex-assassin from the Cold War with a bionic arm. Tony Stark modified it, it's pretty painful and I promise electricity going into metal won't be a fun feeling for you," Darcy said. He let her go, more from surprise at her sudden shift from light-hearted young girl to extremely determined young woman.

"Thanks. Steve wants you to stay at the Avengers Mansion, and Fury wants you to stay at the SHIELD medical unit, but I think you should come over to my place. I share an apartment with Jane, but she's gone half the time doing science things, so it'll be empty."

He didn't say anything, but followed her down to the subway. It smelled like piss and garbage.

"Some things never change," he thought, and when Darcy turned to give him a small, surprised smile, he realized he had said it out loud.

Darcy's apartment was small and cluttered, with pieces of technology that were new to him, but the blankets and pillows thrown everywhere fit her personality, or at least what he'd seen of it so far. There was a small living room and attached kitchen, and then a hallway that led out to bedrooms and a bathroom. He instinctively spotted all of the possible exits before he even had taken a step inside. She shut the door behind him and acted as if he was an old friend who had been to her house so many times she didn't even have to tell him where things were anymore. He put some books from the couch onto the coffee table and sat down. She didn't say anything, just walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer, opening them with a crack and hiss. She handed him one and sat down on the end of the sofa, curled up like a cat. She flicked on the TV to ESPN and tossed the remote at him. He caught it and set it down next to him, watching the baseball game on the screen. Darcy grabbed one of the books he'd put on the table and started reading, humming softly along to the music she was listening to at the same time on her earbuds. It turned out a baseball game and a beer were just as good as quieting his swirling patchwork of thoughts and memories as Darcy's voice was. He let himself relax for the first time since he had woken up, and it felt like … well, it felt like Natalia.

He jerked awake with a start and was on his feet in seconds once he realized that he was in an unfamiliar place. He saw that he had fallen asleep right on the couch. Thankfully he'd finished his beer before he'd closed his eyes; otherwise it would have spilled all over the sofa cushions. Darcy was asleep, a book on her chest and her earbuds fallen to dangle off the side of the couch. She opened her eyes slowly, woken by his movement off the couch, and sat up, yawning and stretching.

"Morning, uh….dude." Darcy said. He could tell she didn't know what name to call him. He had a few to choose from.

"It's afternoon," he replied.

"It's technically before noon, but okay. Hey, you wanna go to the park? Like, Central Park? It's one of the few places in New York that doesn't really change much. Let me clean up first though, I reek. Falling asleep in my clothes always makes me feel kind of sticky, like I have crud all over my body instead of just in the corners of my eyes, you know?"

He didn't know, but she wasn't waiting for an answer. He went into the kitchen while she showered, looking through the refrigerator and cupboards before finally settling on a glass of water. He drank it while staring out of the window, even though the view was just of the next building over's faded red brick wall.

"Ready?" Darcy said from behind him. He hadn't realized how much time had passed. She looked clean and fresh, her hair still wet and her clothes different, though basically a variation on the plaid shirt and faded jeans she had on yesterday. He nodded and followed her outside. He didn't really care about Central Park much either way, but it seemed easier to go along with whatever Darcy said rather than put up a fight. He was tired.

There were too many people on the subway, and he felt like he stuck out with his poorly hidden metal arm and ragged, unshaven appearance. Everyone was plugged in, playing with little devices that Darcy told him were mostly phones, iPods and Kindles. At least that meant that most people paid him no attention whatsoever.

The hustle and bustle of the street and entrance to the park was unfamiliar to him, because he hadn't really been in New York for more than fifty years – even after he had been programmed to become the Soviet Union's most feared assassin they did not ever send him on assignment to New York, or the United States at all. Perhaps they were afraid at the possible triggers that could set them back their hard earned years of work on perfecting the treatment that caused him to become the Winter Soldier. However, the park itself remained much the same.

He remembered coming all the way out here once with Steve when they were kids – Steve's aunt had given the two of them money for the subway and a hot dog one July Fourth, and they'd played basketball with some other kids for hours, taking breaks when Steve had to stop and catch his breath. They'd bought hot dogs and lemonade – he gave half of his to Steve because his skinny little frame always looked like it needed more than he did – and walked around watching all the different kinds of people, envying the picture-perfect families picnicking with their children. When he saw that Steve looked too sad, he took him to go watch fireworks. They'd arrived back home long after dark, and even though both of them were grounded for a week, it had been completely worth it.

"What are you thinking about?" Darcy asked, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Steve," he said before he could think about what word would come out of his mouth.

"Oh. I thought you were looking at those two over there. People didn't do that when you were around, at least not in public, right?" she asked, jerking her head towards two young men smiling and kissing each other on the grass beneath the shade of a big tree.

"Nah, but it was definitely a thing we did."

"We?" Darcy repeated, eyes practically bugging out of her head. He couldn't help but smirk, one side of his mouth turning up in what was the closest he'd come to a real smile since he'd woken up.

"Steve and I. I personally prefer ladies, but Steve likes both. He had a huge crush on a woman called Peggy, but he was … inexperienced, so we practiced."

Darcy opened her mouth but no words came out. He wanted to laugh. He'd finally struck her completely speechless.

As they walked back towards the way they'd come in the park, Darcy's pocket buzzed and she pulled out her phone (he didn't know how long it would take him to get used to the fact that phones now came small enough to fit in your pocket, even though a lot had changed that was one thing his mind seemed to be fixated on – maybe he was just focusing on the small things to avoid going near the much larger issues), having a quick conversation with an unknown third party and then hanging up without saying goodbye.

"Hey, I'm really sorry but I gotta head over to Jane's place, she's having computer problems and I'm basically the only person who can fix it because nobody else understands her organizational system – or lack thereof, really. You mind tagging along? I promise it'll only be like twenty minutes, tops."

He shrugged, and she took that as a yes, heading at a much faster pace towards the subway. He followed just behind, ignoring the nagging feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching him.

He had to get out – he felt smothered, even though both Darcy's friend Jane and Darcy herself had been nothing but kind to him thus far. He excused himself with a mumbled apology and was grateful to not be followed as he walked out into the cool dusk air. He took a few deep breaths, and somehow the scent of garbage and car exhaust was refreshing. He was glad he had never been sent to New York on a mission – though his handlers had worried that the city might destabilize the programming that made him so good at his job, he was glad that he had this city in his mind as his own memories, free from any taint of violence and blood. Well, aside from the various street fights he'd gotten into as a young man, or gotten Steve out of anyway. He leaned against a wall, trying to blend in as best he could, hoping no one would pay any attention to the weary-eyed man fighting off what might turn into a panic attack.

"I know you're here, Natalia," he said, and she appeared from where she'd been watching, for once not hiding the emotions on her face. It hurt him to look, like staring into the sun.

"Welcome back," she said evenly, waiting for his reaction.

"You cut your hair."

"It was getting in the way."

He had to work hard at focusing on the here and now with her face right in front of him, but he made himself do it. They retreated to a dark alleyway across the road, with a mangy cat and half full dumpster for company.

"Who do you work for now?" he asked.

"SHIELD, for now. Struck a deal with Fury."

Anyone who knew her as he did would doubt those words – oh, he certainly believed that Fury thought she was working for him, but she had played at being a double agent before. The Natalia he remembered would not lie to him, though. If his memories of her were to be trusted, that is. They seemed clear enough, but his brain kept jumping from image to image, as if someone had speeded up a tape of his life experiences, and he had to work hard to keep them on pause instead of being overwhelmed completely.

"What does SHIELD want with me?" he asked, after what he realized probably seemed like an abnormally long pause.

"Has Darcy told you about the Avengers Initiative?" she asked.

"No."

"I'll explain," she said, starting to walk out of the alley and down the road. She seemed to take it for granted that he would come with her, but she was right, because he did. She explained the superheroes and gods and aliens that had apparently caused quite a bit of havoc about three weeks ago.

"They've disbanded – most of them have gone their separate ways. But they remain on call in the case of major emergencies."

"They were all special. A metal weaponized suit, super soldier serum, a god from Asgard – what do you need with me? Why wake me up again and go through the trouble of deprogramming me?"

"I – I told Steve about you," she said, and he knew exactly what came next.

"We're going to him now," he said. It wasn't a question, but she nodded nonetheless, taking his arm. He jerked a little when she put her fingers on his sleeve, her arm looping around his metal one, even though he couldn't really feel it.

"I'll call Darcy and let her know where you are," she said. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, but understood the general sentiment, and nodded his assent.

When he walked in the door she barely had time to detach herself from his arm before Steve enveloped his best friend in a bone-crushing hug. He felt a lump rise in his throat and swallowed it down, inhaling in the familiar scent of the plain soap that he used, and trying not to let the thoughts swirling in his head confuse him completely.

"Can't – breathe – " he managed to choke out before Steve let him go. Steve was grinning so hard he thought his face might crack in half.

"Seventy years and you still don't know your own strength," he told him. The guy just could not stop smiling, and he felt a big pit of guilt start to settle in his stomach. Steve had been asleep for years and as soon as he woke up out of the ice he went off to fight aliens and save the world while here he was wallowing in self-pity and more guilt, barely able to keep his brain still enough to function.

"I'm so happy to see you, I'm so glad you're alive, if I had known before I would have gotten them to wake you up right away."

"Yeah, its fine, thanks," he said, taking a minute to look around the apartment. It was small, and sparsely furnished, with a few pieces of simple art up on the walls and mostly utilitarian furniture. The front door opened into the kitchen, which faced the living and dining area. A man was sitting on the sofa, and he stood up when he saw them come in. He wore a comfortable looking hoodie and faded jeans, and from what he had been told about SHIELD and the Avengers, he thought he knew who he was before he even said his name.

"I'm Clint Barton. Hawkeye. I shoot things," he said, shaking his hand.

"Me too."

"Different weapons though."

The four of them sat in the living room, Natalia curling up next to Clint on the couch with an easy camaraderie that he immediately envied, feeling a pang of jealousy that he pushed down and out of sight. There was pizza on the table, and even though it had gone cold he took a slice, eating to try and distract himself and focus himself at the same time. It was harder than one would think, since it required a contradiction of thought, basically.

"So did Natasha tell you about the big alien fight?" Clint asked. He shook his head.

"She told me in very basic terms."

"Okay well you have to hear this story, because it's freaking awesome and people are gonna be talking about it for years, right?" he said. Steve smiled.

"He hasn't stopped telling people about it since it happened."

"Hey, I usually don't get to talk about my missions, this one was on live TV so I'm gonna tell everyone I know."

"You don't know me."

"Do now."

For the first time in as long as he could remember – or what he could piece out of his jumble of memories, anyway – he felt like nothing was expected of him. He lounged on the sofa with pizza and beer, leaning against the worn cushions with one foot propped on the edge of the coffee table and the other knocking against Steve's leg. Natalia had started off sitting next to Clint on the other couch, but the other man's animation while telling the story of how he and the Avengers had saved the world led him to wave his hands around and bodily demonstrate fighting positions so that now he was on the floor, cross-legged, and Natalia was curled up into a catlike ball on an armchair, looking as comfortable as he'd ever seen her.

After Clint had finished his story, he began explaining who each of the Avengers was and what their respective pasts included. Natalia had explained a little of this to him earlier, but Clint's descriptions were much more colorful. He thought that the man would probably have enjoyed the Howling Commandoes, he would have fit right in. He listened, but half of his awareness was always with Steve and Natalia. He didn't know how he was going to reconcile the two selves that were warring within his mind – the person he had been when he was with Steve, and the person he had been when he was with Natalia – or Natasha, as she was going by now. He was reassured by Steve's presence, and couldn't help himself from keeping at least one part of his body in contact with Steve's – his leg against his thigh, a hand brushing against his shoulder, but he wasn't sure how he felt about Natasha. The person he had been when he was with her hadn't been under his control. He knew that part of him had been there, still inside his head, but he had no way of knowing if the chemistry between himself and Natasha had been programmed into the Winter Soldier or arisen completely from his own self. Steve had only just woken up, and to him, he knew he was just Bucky, but Steve could barely internalize the fact that seventy years had passed, how could he deal with the knowledge that his best friend had become a trained killer? Meanwhile, Natasha and Clint moved around each other with the easy physicality that he knew he and she had once possessed.

"You okay?" Steve asked his friend gently, nudging his leg. He sat up straight with a jolt, banging his leg into the table and clenching his metal arm in a fist. Natasha was out of her seat in seconds, standing straight up. He knew immediately that she wasn't sure if he was completely 'deprogrammed' or not, and felt a twist in his stomach he didn't know how to interpret.

"Can I borrow some clothes and maybe take a shower?" he asked Steve, who just seemed concerned. He saw Clint still on the floor, watching him evenly. Natasha relaxed, and walked over to the kitchen to throw away the empty pizza box.

"Sure, the bathroom's right through there and you can take any clothes from the drawers in the bedroom." Steve said, pointing down the hallway. He smirked a little.

"I think your clothes will be a little big for me," he said. Steve smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"I'm sure Darcy will be more than happy to take you shopping," Natasha said. He wasn't sure if that was something he wanted, but nodded and went to clean himself up.

He felt much more at ease with himself after showering and shaving. His face was a little gaunter than he was comfortable with, but shaving helped his looks, and he even found a pair of nail scissors with which he trimmed his hair a little, just trying to make himself look a little more presentable. He remembered the days he had tried to get Steve to go out dancing or on dates, and no matter how much he fiddled with Steve's hair; he never really looked any less diminutive. He had spent a lot of time on his own appearance too; his ways with the ladies did take some effort, after all. Charm could only get you so far.

Steve's clothes were in fact too big for him, but they weren't as large as he thought they would be. The pants definitely hung loose on his hips and he had to grab a belt, but apparently Steve still wasn't used to his new, much larger body, because he knew for a fact that if the plain white T-shirt he'd found in the chest of drawers fit relatively well on him it must be very tight on Steve. He grabbed the same jacket he was wearing before, and rummaged through the drawers trying to find some kind of glove to cover his metal arm with, but instead he found a sketchbook hidden beneath a pair of khaki pants. He sat down on the bed and started to look through the drawings. A few of people he didn't immediately recognize, but soon realized were the other Avengers. One of Natasha – he absently brushed away a few eraser shavings and turned the page to see one of Peggy Carter. He wondered what had happened to her. She must be quite old by now. Steve obviously still cared for her, he could tell from the attention to detail, especially around her hair and face. He was just about to turn the page when Clint walked in, not bothering to knock.

"You should probably put that away, Steve gets pretty possessive about his drawings. Darcy's here for you, she's waiting outside. Apparently Natasha texted her and told her to take you shopping? You look much better without the beard, by the way," he said. He put the sketchbook back in the drawer and followed Clint back into the living room, where Darcy was scolding Steve over his phone choices.

"You can't take the phones that Tony gives you, Stark Industries stuff is like, super complicated and hard to use. He just wants you to have them because he thinks his stuff is better than anyone else's stuff, which yeah, maybe it is, but you gotta admit that this one is way more user-friendly. I mean, a guy like you needs buttons to push! If you have a touch-screen you end up butt-dialing people at random hours, and that can get super awkward."

"Butt-dialing?" Steve said.

"Yeah, you know, when your phone's in your back pocket and something nudges against your butt and you end up calling a random contact? Imagine the awkwardness if you're off getting groceries or something and your phone butt-dials Fury and he thinks there's like, a super important emergency and the Avengers Assemble on a random convenience store or something?"

"I don't think that would – Bucky!" Steve said, looking delighted at his friend's fresher, cleaner appearance.

"Hey, dude, you look way better. Those clothes are still totally old school though, did you borrow them from Steve?" Darcy asked. He nodded.

"Darcy's here to go take you shopping and give you a makeover," Natasha explained. He thought he saw the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, but with Natasha you could never be a hundred percent sure.

"Yep! You have no choice in the matter. Come on," Darcy said, grabbing his (non-metal) arm and tugging him out the door.

He hadn't really thought about clothes since before the war – he'd just worn his uniform and then whatever his handlers provided for his missions – so when Darcy asked him what he liked he didn't know how to answer, since his first gut feelings were probably hopelessly out of date. He knew he looked a little strange even now, and it wasn't just because Steve's clothes didn't fit him properly.

"Come on; are you more into dressing for comfort, like Clint? Do you like to look super stylish, like Natasha? Are you into random band T-shirts and stained jeans like Tony? Or alternatively, suits and tuxes that cost more than my college tuition like Tony?" Darcy asked as he blinked in the overwhelming sounds and sights of a shopping mall. At least everything in here was so blatantly 21st century it didn't bring back any memories for him.

"I don't know. I want something that hides my arm. And I like this jacket," he said. Darcy gave him a critical once-over.

"Okay, so no short sleeves. And lots of leather jackets. Come on, let's see if we can give you some of the basics first," she said, pulling out a credit card.

"How are you paying for this?" he asked, following her into a store that seemed to sell only clothes with patterns or plain colors. A sign announced that if he bought one item marked with a yellow sticker he could get one of equal or lesser value for half off.

"SHIELD gave me a credit card when they assigned me to help you get used to the 21st century. It's one of the perks of my job. As long as I don't abuse it, but I totally think that tickets to see Bridesmaids is important to understand the mentality of American women in modern times, don't you?"

"What?"

"I kind of forgot that the movie opened with a pretty awkward sex scene. Steve almost walked right out of the theater, but I made him stay by promising him that I'd rent a classical musical later. Did you know that Steve loves musicals?"

"Yeah, he dragged me to go see The Wizard of Oz when it first came out."

"Hey, what size are you?" Darcy asked as they made their way to a shelf of jeans. She didn't wait for an answer, grabbing the back of his waistband and pulling his pants down enough to read the size on the tag. He yelped and grabbed his pants before they fell down.

"These are Steve's! They're too big for me, so it doesn't matter what size they are."

"Here, try these three on. One of them will fit. While you're in there I'll pick out some shirts."

He had no choice but to obey, holding his pants up with one hand as she dumped four pairs of jeans in his other arm and pointed him in the direction of the fitting room.

An hour and a half later and two shopping bags heavier, the two of them headed back out to the street. Darcy was surprisingly good at shopping – she didn't take forever and try to pressure him into buying things he didn't want, instead she was incredibly efficient and open to his wishes and tastes. She insisted on buying him some coffee from Starbucks, and even though it was sickeningly sweet he felt obligated to at least pretend to enjoy it after all she was doing for him. Even though it was technically her job, he knew he wasn't the most interesting companion. He could barely focus on what was happening around him enough to pretend to look and act like a normal person, though the more time he spent around Darcy the easier it became.

"How did you even get to work for SHIELD? Most people in that line of work are … not like you," he asked as they made their way down to the subway.

"You mean boring? Ugh, I know. Everyone's either as uninteresting as possible or completely nuts. Or sometimes even both, like Dr. Banner. I'm not really working for SHIELD though, I work for Jane. Kind of. I was her intern 'cause I needed the credits to graduate, and then a Norse God landed in New Mexico and there was some stuff about a rainbow bridge, and then Loki showed up and basically Jane and Thor fell in love – Natasha probably already told you this story, right?"

"Not all of it."

"Well, basically Thor's back in Asgard, but he comes back to visit when he can. Jane got hired for SHIELD, because they wouldn't give her lab notes or research back unless she agreed to work for them, and anyway they pay more. I'm still her intern, even though she's got actual scientists to help her. My job is basically to make sure she remembers to eat and sleep. And apparently to help time travelling ex-soldiers adjust to the 21st century, but that part's just fun."

"They probably thought it would be easier to just keep you on at SHIELD then try to fill out all the paperwork that it would entail to make sure you kept everything a secret and didn't tell the whole world about the Avengers Initiative."

"It's kind of late for that, I posted pictures of Thor on Facebook and the whole city saw them defeat the evil flying aliens."

"How do they get around without getting mobbed?"

"You know, surprisingly few people have actually seen them out of uniform. Except Tony, who was famous before. All Steve has to do is put on a baseball cap and sunglasses, and he's good. Nobody paid much attention to Clint or Natasha anyway, and Dr. Banner's not really well-known either, and Thor's in Asgard. So it actually works okay."

"Huh."

The hours turned into days, days into weeks, and before he even knew it, a month had gone by. He was living in Steve's apartment, sleeping mostly on the couch. Sometimes they shared the bed, and it was like old times, but he got nightmares a lot, and woke up with his hands around Steve's throat. Even though he thought he might never get used to his skinny, sickly best friend's buff new body, he was thankful that this Steve could defend himself better. No matter how often or how painfully he tried to kill Steve in his sleep, Steve's reaction was to wake up and gently dislodge his metal arm from around his neck, murmuring reassurances the whole time. He never could figure out what part of him was doing what. It was easier and easier to function in the twenty-first century world without getting distracted and reminded of people and places that no longer existed or were irrevocably changed, but he still did not know who he was. Bucky? James? Yasha? Which part of his brain was truly his? What memories were real?

He knew that he would have to find a way to live with the destruction and death he had caused, but he had trouble accepting that he had, as Steve kept reassuring him, been used as a weapon. He had no control over his actions. But he knew that wasn't true – they chose him, because they saw something in him, some kind of potential. Had they been the ones to program in the efficient, deadly calculation, or had that just been part of him all along? He kept seeing faces in his dreams, faces of the people he'd killed as The Winter Soldier. Every time he caught a glimpse of his arm he remembered falling from the train, Steve's face as he realized that there was nothing he could do – it was harder and harder to think of happy memories, they slipped away from him like water through his fingers.

He spent most of his time in the apartment during the day. At night he walked around the city, sticking to the shadows and taking in the atmosphere with a little less of the oppressive amounts of humanity and humid summer heat. He slept a lot, and watched TV. He liked anything that could distract him from his own mind. A lot of sports movies, and some romantic comedies, because they were the farthest removed from his own life that he could get. Darcy came over a lot, and she was a welcome presence, even though sometimes he liked to pretend to be annoyed with her. She didn't seem to care. Natalia stayed away, noticing how visibly uncomfortable he got when she was around. She was inextricably linked to the parts of his past he most wanted to forget. Clint came over sometimes too, he had become fast friends with Steve, though the two men seemed to have more differences than similarities. He clicked with him right away, and the other man enjoyed talking so much that he was never sure if what Clint said was true, false, or some exaggeration in between.

Steve went to art shows. He made public appearances when SHIELD asked him too, though he hated every minute of it, just like he remembered from before. There was no actual fighting, for a long time. Then one day he woke up in bed and when his hand flopped over to rest on the cool sheets instead of Steve's warm body, he jerked awake, searching the apartment until he found the note attached to the refrigerator with a Hulk cartoon magnet. _SHIELD called, Avengers business. Turn on the news._

He thought if there was another alien invasion he probably would have woken up by now, but he looked out the window just to be sure. Nothing. It was a bright, clear day – Steve's apartment was high up enough that he could actually see the sky instead of the building next to theirs or the alley in between. He rubbed his hair, which he knew was sticking up in every direction, and went into the living room to turn on the TV. It was easy to find the right channel; they had all interrupted their regular programming to focus on the action. Before he could even read the headline at the bottom of the screen, the doorbell rang. He pulled it open only to be confronted with a formidable bespectacled face.

"Darcy? Why are you here? Isn't there some kind of an emergency?" he asked, but she barreled in past him, and he let her.

"Yeah, and though I think that I'm better off watching TV on the couch, you should be out there helping."

"I'm not a hero. I'm the farthest thing from it. I'm broken."

"Right, and they aren't? Come on, we're going to SHIELD. I'll tell you what's happening on the way. Put on a shirt and shoes, hurry up!"

He seemed to have no choice, so he went into the bedroom and got himself dressed, following Darcy out the door and down the stairs into the waiting car.

"Whose car is this?" he asked as they drove off down the mostly-empty streets. Whatever was going on, it had people scared enough not to want to go outside.

"Tony Stark's. He let me borrow it once I told him what my plan was. He thinks it's dumb that SHIELD isn't using you too. He's an asshole, but this time he's totally right. Anyway, so there's a hostage situation."

"Shouldn't the NYPD deal with that?"

"Not when the guy holding everyone in Radio City Music Hall hostage has an army of mutated twenty feet tall bipedal alligators that keeps chewing their heads off."

"What?"

"Yeah, I know. Things are really weird around here. So, basically, Coulson and Hill are working on the best possible strategy on this, but of course Iron Man and Captain America decided there wasn't a second to waste and went right in battling the mutated alligator monsters. So Fury's pissed, and Dr. Banner's missing because he knows what they're going to ask him to do and he doesn't think it's necessary for this kind of 'small-scale' thing – massive man-eating monsters don't sound small to me but I guess for the Hulk, you know – "

"What about Natalia?"

"Black Widow? I don't know where she is. Or Hawkeye, actually. Thor's gone though, you already know that. Hawkeye would need some pretty badass arrows to go through the thick skin on those alligators, bullets ping off of them like they're plastic."

"Wonderful," he said, but he was feeling a little bit of excitement despite himself. He was used to being a sniper, watching and waiting, then going in, taking down his target, and getting out. That's what Natalia did too, but apparently her job description had changed, of late.

"Stop here! I don't think we can get any closer." Darcy told the driver. He could only see the back of the man's head. The driver obeyed, and Darcy got out, pointing at the police barricade of cars in the street a few blocks in front of them.

"See? You have to sneak past the cops, but after that you're good. Oh look, there's Iron Man!" she said, craning her neck up at the sky. The red and gold metal man seemed to spot them at the same minute, and landed gently just in front of them.

"Bucky, right? I'm Tony Stark," he said, his voice mechanical through the suit. He shook his hand with his left arm instead of his right. It seemed the thing to do, when shaking the hand of a metallic suit of armor.

"Nice to meet you."

"Right, yeah, same. So you coming or what? Is that what you're wearing? We gotta get you a costume. Have Steve sketch something for you. You walking, or you want me to take you flying?"

"I'm – I'm good. I'll meet you there."

"Sweet. See ya later, Darcy," Tony said, and he blasted off.

It was pure and utter chaos. He was used to watching everything from a vantage point until it was time to move in, and then he just took out his target and the job was done. This was different. The monsters had ripped apart the entire front of the building, and the battle had spilled out into the street. The police were here, but were completely ineffective, their bullets pinging off of the alligator like creatures. They were now focusing on clearing the area of civilians and bystanders, aided by Natalia, whose distinctive red hair and black outfit he spotted in the crowd, registering her presence before he spared a moment to evaluate anything else going on. He saw Iron Man, blasting the creatures. That seemed to annoy and enrage them even more, but he seemed to be enjoying their reaction, even though it didn't actually hurt them physically. Steve was the only one actually fighting them head-on. He focused on methodically fighting them one by one, but there were too many of them, and despite his shield and superhuman strength, he couldn't actually kill any of them, just hold them back from destroying him completely. He went to him immediately, yanking off his jacket on the way – it would only impede his movement, and restrict his strong arm. He ducked into the fray, making his way to shouting distance of his best friend, and took a running start to leap on the back of one of the monsters that he was fighting.

"Bucky? What are you doing? You're not supposed to be here!"

"I'm saving your sorry ass," he said, laughing as he smashed his metal arm right onto the furiously bucking creature's head, bashing it over and over while trying to stay on its back. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this. It reminded him of the days during the war, the few precious months when he and Steve were fighting side by side with the Howling Commandoes at their back. Then he'd spot Natasha in the crowd, among the police officers trying to corral the bystanders and pedestrians away from the mayhem, or he'd glimpse the sun bouncing off the shiny metal of his arm, and confusing half-memories of missions in Prague or Dublin would flash in front of his face. He lost his balance and tumbled to the ground, but years of honing his reflexes – or was it programming? – helped him land on his feet.

"They don't die! They don't even feel pain!" Steve said, frustration coming through his voice. He put a hand to his ear for a second and he realized that his friend was communicating with someone with the device stuck in his ear.

"Move them back! Clint's up on the roof, he's going to take the whole place down if we can just get them in it," Steve said. He resisted from staring up and trying to find out where Clint was viewing all of this from, and instead focused on helping Steve and Tony push the creatures back towards the building they'd come out of. Fighting felt great, it felt like he was doing what he was born to do – he pushed the other thoughts (if he was born to destroy, to kill, to fight, what did that say about him?) aside and just focused on the moment, ducking and dodging and punching and kicking and hurling and throwing. Sometime during all of this he registered in his peripheral vision Natasha (he wasn't thinking of her as Natalia anymore, she was no longer that person anymore, and he was no longer the Winter Soldier either) climbing up a street lamp and leaping off, landing neatly on the neck of one of the creatures that he was fighting. He backed off, letting her do her thing (which in this case involved slipping a rope around the alligator's mouth and then using that rope to yank it's head back and slam it against a wall, hard enough to stun it into a stumbling confusion), and then Steve told them all to back off, get out of the way, move move MOVE!

Bucky took a second to register his words, and that was a second too long, apparently, because he felt Steve literally grab him by his not-metal arm, taking Natasha with his other arm, and drag them both away, knocking them to the ground and leaping on top of them, his shield protecting them all as Clint's arrows hit their targets, triggering an explosion that made his vision go completely white for a full minute. When he could properly see again, he realized that Natasha was lying next to him, and Steve was on top of his body, so close that if he wanted to he could kiss him. Bucky waggled his eyebrows suggestively with a mischievous grin, and Steve blushed a bright pink, jumping off of him so fast that he almost fell backwards. Natasha simply rolled her eyes and held out a hand to help him up. He took it and the three of them took a moment to look around them. The Radio City Music Hall lay in complete rubble, with not a single wall still standing, but at least there were no more of the alligators roaming around. Iron Man landed gently in front of them, opening his helmet to reveal the sweaty, smiling face beneath.

"Well, that was fun."

It was like old times, the two of them sitting on metal hospital chairs as they waited to be patched up. Bucky allowed the medics to treat his worse injuries, but he was mostly just cut and bruised anyway. Natasha was there, sitting patiently on the other chair on the fifty second floor of SHIELD's main headquarters in New York. He felt rejuvenated, more clearheaded – the mixed up memories of the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were all still there in his head, and he couldn't tell what was his own and what had been programmed into his brain for him, but it was no longer in the forefront of his mind. He could focus on other things. Not everything reminded him of something else, at least not in the way that would bring unwanted flashes of memories straight in front of his face, playing like a movie he couldn't ever switch off.

"Where's Steve?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"Captain America is speaking to the press. He's the face of the Avengers Initiative, because none of the rest of us is as photogenic or personable." Natasha explained.

"Hey!" Tony said, entering the room still wearing the bottom half of his Iron Man suit like a pair of incredibly awkward metal pants. Every step clanked, until, with a few presses of buttons, the whole thing folded up and disappeared into his pocket. He took a seat in the chair left empty between Bucky and Natasha, turning to the man's metal arm.

"So the Soviets made this thing? It's what, decades old?" he asked, reaching out and grabbing it. Bucky gave him a look, but he wasn't paying attention. Natasha wasn't about to come to his aid, she was watching the two of them with her trademark look of detached amusement – which looked just like every other look she wore, except with a slight trace of humor n her eyes.

"They modified it while I was asleep. Updated it."

"Whatever. Give it to me for ten minutes and I can totally work with it. You could do whatever you wanted. Can you punch through walls? Do you want a detachable can opener? A watch you never have to take off? I can give you a feed to JARVIS."

"No," he said, pulling his arm away. Tony finally looked up at his eyes, and cocked his head like a curious puppy.

"They programmed you to be a super assassin, right? Is it like Bruce? Natasha, if I poke him, will he snap and kill me?"

"Why don't you try and find out?" she replied, but he didn't get a chance to do so before Clint walked in, still carrying his precious bow, his quiver of arrows strapped to his back. He looked sweaty and tired, just like the others, the weariness apparent in the lines around his eyes.

"Coulson and Fury want us in the conference room. Steve's already up there," he announced.

"I don't know why I stick around for this stuff." Tony mumbled, continuing his litany of complaints all the way up to the conference room, until Natasha came up with a particularly creative way to kill him.

"I think I'm aroused and afraid at the same time," he replied, and she snuck a small smile before the elevator doors dinged and they headed in for their debriefing.

Steve paid close attention. He even took notes. Bucky should have been annoyed, but he was just filled with a fondness for his earnest, sincere best friend. The meeting was long and boring – all about what went wrong, what went right, and what to fix for the future. When they were all finished, Tony headed off (he mentioned something about celebrating their victory) at top speed, and Steve went to aid in the cleaning up and rebuilding efforts (because of course that's what Captain America would do), but Coulson asked Bucky to stay behind. He didn't have to listen to them. He knew that the others worked for SHIELD, but he didn't. They may have been the ones to find him and wake him up, but he owed them no allegiance. Steve had told him numerous times, back in his apartment, how Fury had lied to them about Coulson's death to motivate them. He knew that Fury had the greater good in mind, but no one appreciated being manipulated, or having the truth kept from them. Steve thought that Fury's idea of the greater good aligned with his own for now, but as soon as it didn't he would have no problem walking away. Bucky kept all this in mind whenever he had to interact with SHIELD. He couldn't really pin Coulson down. The man seemed ordinary and indistinguishable from the dozens of other SHIELD suits milling around the building, except for his obvious worship of Captain America (not Steve Rogers so much as Captain America).

"Fury asked me to talk to you about your place here. I'm sure the others have already told you about the beginnings of the Avengers Initiative?"

Bucky nodded, standing with his arms crossed and his face impassive. Until he knew what kind of a person this man was, he'd rather use his Winter Soldier face than his Bucky Barnes one.

"You can have a place here, if you want. Working for SHIELD. We wouldn't necessarily call you in for big missions, just minor ones, like today. You'd be a sort of honorary member, or part of the reserve. Whichever term you prefer. If that's something you're interested in."

Was the man nervous? Maybe he'd read the books. Darcy had shown him a few. Biographies, historical non-fiction. Comics. Bucky had a mention in some of them, and in others he even had a few paragraphs or pages dedicated to his exploits as Captain America's sidekick, along with the rest of the Howling Commandoes.

"Let me think about it."

"That's fine. Just let us know," he said, and Bucky headed out. He couldn't shake off the feeling of mistrust he had towards SHIELD, and wondered if that was his Winter Soldier programming. He headed out of the building and into the evening. He wondered where Natasha had gone, and decided to track her and find out.

Bucky knew that Natasha knew he was following her. He lost her somewhere on 38th street, and used his knowledge of her more than any actual tracking skills to find her in a crowded bar, drinking with a blonde woman he identified as Tony's girlfriend and CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts. He sat up at the bar and ordered a drink, nursing it as he surreptitiously watched the two women talk and laugh. The place was not very loud, and seemed to be filled with people of all ages – it was easy to blend in, at least for the women. Bucky felt a little out of place, he was a little too melancholy and his longish hair and plaid shirt didn't really fit the slightly trendier clientele. He knew that Natasha knew he was here, she was just choosing to let him observe the two of them.

He had mixed feelings, watching her chat and smile over her drink. He could tell, just from knowing her as long as he had, that she wasn't putting on an act. She was reserved, yes, but her pleasure at Pepper's company was genuine. He was glad for her, he really was. She had a normal life now, or as normal of a life that anyone in her position could have. She had real friends – Clint, and Pepper, and Steve. He was simultaneously irrationally jealous. He wanted what she had. He always would have a deep connection to Natasha that no one else could come close to duplicating, but that wasn't at the forefront now. She had moved on, while he was stuck in the past.

Bucky stood up, paid for his still-unfinished drink, and headed out. He didn't notice Natasha's eyes follow him as he walked out the door.

He knew where Darcy lived, and he thought odds were probably pretty low that a young woman in the twenty-first century would be sitting home alone on a Friday night, but he thought it was worth a shot. Oddly enough, when he rang her doorbell, she answered, wearing a pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt with a turtle on it. Her glasses had left a red mark on her cheek.

"Bucky! What are you doing here?" she asked, clearly as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

"I'm going to California, do you want to come?"

"What? Uh, maybe you should come inside."

Darcy stepped aside to let him in, and he saw the rumpled blanket on the couch. The TV was turned on to Keeping Up With the Kardashians – Bucky only knew that because he couldn't turn his brain off and actually had absorbed everything that Darcy had ever talked to him about. Plus he thought Kim Kardashian was pretty attractive, reminded him a little bit of the girls he used to dance with back when he was simply Bucky Barnes, Steve's charismatic friend.

"Watching TV on a Friday night?" he asked as she shut the door.

"So? Don't judge me."

"I'm not. Just making an observation."

"What was that about a road trip?" she asked.

"I want to go to California. I'm going to borrow Steve's motorcycle. He won't mind. Do you want to come with me?"

"I am quite entertaining. A good road trip companion. Plus, riding on a motorcycle down the highway behind a hot guy is kind of a fantasy of mine, even though it is kind of fifties and goes against everything my mom taught me about feminism and being a strong woman."

"What does riding a motorcycle have to do with – "

"Are we leaving in the morning?"

"I was thinking more like now."

"Okay, well let me go pack and then we can go get Steve's bike. You sure he won't mind?"

"I'll leave him a note."

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a motorcycle, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. It would bring up other memories, unwanted ones that he had had quite enough of for a while. He had written Steve a quick note, saying he wasn't sure when he'd be back or where exactly he was going, but he would take good care of the motorcycle and return it as soon as he could. He'd found a helmet, but he gave it to Darcy, since she was sitting behind him and anyway it was the gentlemanly thing to do. She held on tight to his waist as they sped down the largely empty highway. It was quite late, and he felt Darcy yawn against his back. He'd have to stop when she became too sleepy, or she'd fall off and break her neck. He had some money – the Soviets had often provided both him and Natalia with bank accounts filled with enough for whatever they needed, and he was slightly surprised to still find some of the accounts open. He had gone to the library and a kind older woman had helped him figure out how to get a debit card so he could get money from an ATM. It was strange for him to think that she was probably still a baby when he was off fighting Nazis with Steve.

He wasn't sure why he was going to California. He had never been, and it was as far away from New York as you could get, those were good enough reasons. Yet he knew that if getting away from everything was his true desire, he wouldn't have brought Darcy along. She had been his first link to the new life the Avengers were creating for themselves, the life that he didn't see any place for himself in. Bucky's train of thought was interrupted when he felt Darcy's head sag against his back. He screeched to a stop on the shoulder of the highway and shook her awake, turning around in his seat.

"Mmm?" she said, squinting up at him. A piece of her dark hair was stuck in her mouth, and her eyes were kind of pink with fatigue.

"Darcy. Wake up. If you fall asleep you'll fall off the motorcycle and smash your head into a million pieces."

"Well that doesn't sound too pleasant," she mumbled, spitting out the hair.

"Just stay awake long enough for us to get to a motel, then you can sleep on a bed instead of on my back," he said. She nodded, blinking a couple of times and widening her eyes as much as they would go. She managed to in fact stay awake for the next fifteen minutes, catching herself if her head drooped too far forward. He booked a room in the first motel they came across, somewhere in rural Pennsylvania. Bucky had to put his arm around Darcy to get her into the room and she practically collapsed onto one of the twin beds, not even awake enough to take off her shoes or get under the covers. He put her backpack at the foot of the bed and lay on his back on the other one, staring up at the freckled ceiling until he finally fell asleep.

He woke up first, of course. He checked on Darcy, who had pulled the bedcovers around her body and kicked off her shoes in the night. She was still asleep. He went out onto the balcony and took in the cool early morning breeze. This wasn't even a town, just a collection of motels, gas stations, and restaurants in a clump just off the highway. He could hear the cars whooshing by. Bucky scanned the parking lot. Steve's motorcycle was still there, and none of the other vehicles seemed out of place, but he wasn't naive enough to believe he wasn't being watched. He made sure the motel room door was locked and went to go get some breakfast.

When he came back the bed was empty, but he could hear the shower running. He set the bagels, muffins, coffee, juice and fruit on the small table and turned on the TV, leaning up against the pillows as he flicked through the channels, eventually settling on an Indiana Jones movie.

Darcy came out of the bathroom, drying her hair and shoving a blueberry muffin in her mouth. She put on a black leather jacket and grinned, slowly turning in a circle.

"What do you think? Good motorcycle road trip attire?"

"Beautiful. Eat your breakfast so we can get going."

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him but obeyed, pulling on her sneakers as she chewed. She offered her opinion on Harrison Ford's face and career, ignoring Bucky's glares. Soon enough, they were ready to go, and they were on their way. Darcy kept bugging him to buy a helmet for himself, and eventually he acquiesced, though he drew the line at the pink one she picked out. They stopped for lunch at a diner someplace in Ohio.

They found a booth near the back and took their seats. Darcy wrinkled her nose when she saw a sticky stain on the menu.

"At least they have all-day breakfast," she commented.

"We stand out in here," Bucky commented. They were the youngest patrons, the thinnest, and Darcy was one of the only women besides the waitress, who walked over with a slight sway to her hips. She smiled at Bucky.

"Mornin'. What can I get for ya?"

"It's afternoon," Darcy said. The waitress gave her a look and turned back to Bucky.

"This your little sister?" she asked.

"No. She's my girlfriend."

Darcy did not act surprised, but after that the waitress was all business, taking their order (tomato soup and grilled cheese for him, hashbrowns and an omelette for her).

"So why the spontaneous road trip?" Darcy asked.

"I needed to get away."

"You've been away for like, twenty years."

"Everyone has a place. They all fit, they know where they belong."

"Are you kidding me? The Avengers are the most messed up people I know!"

The waitress came with their food, and Darcy spoke up again once she had left.

"Steve lost everyone and everything. Dr. Banner is … well, he's complicated. Mr. Stark – well, even with Pepper he's still a mess. And Thor's never gonna be over the fact that his brother went all super-villain. Clint and Natasha had the most screwed up childhoods ever. You're not even – you're normal, for them, trust me." Darcy said.

"They're a team. They work together. I'm used to working alone. I'm an infamous assassin. The Winter Soldier."

"Not anymore."

"I still – I get flashes of memories. I never know whether they're real. I see myself killing people – standing over bodies, blood in the snow, the rush I get when everything went exactly right and I eliminated my target – how much of it – I don't … "

Bucky trailed off. His soup had gone cold. His hand was shaking a little and he clenched it into a fist, his metal arm hidden by the sleeve of his brown leather jacket disappearing under the table.

"That wasn't you, that was the Russians' brainwashing – "

"They picked me! They saw something in me. Maybe I was brainwashed, or programmed, but part of it was me. It was always in me, it's still in me."

His voice had risen and people were starting to stare. Darcy put three tens on the table and took Bucky's arm. He visibly flinched at the touch, but allowed himself to be pulled out of the diner, under the guise of just holding his hand. As soon as they got outside, he wrenched free.

"You need to calm down." Darcy said.

"You don't – you'll never understand what it's like – not being able to trust your own mind – "

He was yelling now, and the sun glinted off his arm with a flash of brightness. A couple of big, broad middle aged men came outside.

"You okay there?" one of them asked. The two of them turned, and Bucky tried hard to keep himself under control. All of his building frustration was coming to a boiling point – he thought that the fight would help with that, but ith ad only made the itch under his skin more persistent.

"I'm – I'm fine, thanks," Darcy said.

"You have a problem?" Bucky challenged.

The men didn't say anything; one of them lit a cigarette and leaned against a wall. Darcy put her hand on Bucky's arm.

"Maybe we should – "

It was a reflex, he wasn't paying attention and he had always reacted badly to anyone touching his bionic arm unless he consciously remembered to be normal. In one swift motion he had wrenched away from her and she stumbled backwards, knocking against the motorcycle. The two men moved, their words of protest lost on Bucky as he let the buried part of himself take over. Metal hit flesh with a familiar crunch and then something hit his chest and electricity passed through his body, knocking him flat on his back.

"I'm sorry, he has some issues, but everything's completely fine, I promise," Darcy was saying, helping usher the men gently but firmly back inside. Bucky sat up, the residual shocks still lingering in his slightly-twitching body. Darcy walked back over and lifted his sleeve up, not actually touching him.

"I wasn't sure if electricity plus metal was a good idea, but well … sorry," she said, not sounding all that apologetic. Bucky put his metal hand in hers and used her to partly haul himself up without falling over.

"What is that thing?" he asked, warily eyeing the device in her hand.

"Mr. Stark designed it for me. It's a taser, but it has a people setting and a super people setting. It even slows the Hulk down – or well, its' supposed to. Cool, right?"

"Uh…"

"I think we should get back on the road. Like, now."

He found himself obeying, and soon enough they were back on board, the pattern of the road mesmerizing beneath the wheels. Darcy's arms around his waist were more soothing than annoying. He tried to focus on driving, the task at hand. The unpredictability of where his mind could go when was starting to scare him. The more he got it under control the less reassured he was. They made it from Ohio to Illinois, fields of grain passing them by. The monotony helped.

Darcy wanted to see Chicago, and Bucky didn't exactly have plans, so they headed into the city. She found a record store and the expression on her face told him he should just leave her to her own devices for a while. He went outside and found a sports bar on the same block, settling in with a drink to watch whatever game was on at the moment. It was nice to be around a lot of people and noise without being expected to contribute in any way.

"The hell is that?" a voice cut through the noise. Bucky looked up just as the bar erupted into complete chaos. He didn't know exactly what was going on, but he ducked to the floor, pulling the man next to him down as well. There was a shower of glass as the wine glasses hanging above the bar smashed to pieces. Bucky shook his head like a dog, shards of glass tinkling down, and crawled behind the bar, where three other patrons and the bartender had also gathered.

"They have guns."

"Who?"

"Stay here," Bucky said, and moved around to the edge closer to the door. He could see that it was blocked by tables and the blinds had been pulled down. There were two men and one woman, all with ski masks and guns. They had everyone gathered on the sides of the room, against the walls. They were in various states of fear and/or anger. A few people had presumably put up a fight, and were bleeding where they'd fallen. It looked to be a hostage situation, or at least that was the first thing that came into his head. Bucky pulled his sleeves down and made sure his gloves hadn't slipped off either, returning back behind the bar. His movement had attracted attention however, and one of the gunmen came over, pointing at them to move into the main area. Bucky settled into a spot from which he could see as much as possible. The bartender, a young tattooed Asian man, sat next to him.

"There's a back door by the bathrooms and storage area," he whispered. Bucky nodded. He was forming a plan. One of the gunmen was on his cell phone, and the other two were talking in low voices. He weighed his choices, and looked at the two bodies on the floor. Both were still breathing; one was crying softly. He decided to go for it.

"Lead everyone out the back, I'll distract."

The bartender did not even protest, nodding earnestly, his eyes still wide with adrenaline. In two swift motions he was across the room and had disarmed the man who was on his phone. Kicking the gun out of reach, he used his main advantage – his arm. While he was fighting, the bartender gathered as many people as he could, moving out the back. There were customers all over the place – gunfire in such a cramped, packed room was a recipe for disaster, and Bucky winced when he heard the first shot. There was yelling, screaming, crying – he even heard faint sirens. It was messy, but when it was all done the three criminals were on the floor, two knocked out and one no longer breathing. Police burst through the big, smashed-out windows, boots crunching on broken glass. Bucky panicked. He ran. A bullet whizzed past and he felt a sting on his ear. He slipped on alcohol and blood but didn't stop. He went straight to the record store, but Darcy wasn't there. He found her next door at a coffee shop, and pulled her out of line, ignoring her protests as he got the two of them back on Steve's motorcycle and out of Chicago.

He didn't feel comfortable stopping until they were two hours away, at a motel in a place called Sterling. He booked a room even though it was only eight and they could have kept going for another three or fours, at least make it in to Iowa. He had Darcy do all the talking, and when they got into the room she spun to face him, hands on her hips.

"Why do you smell like you took a bath in beer? You're all beat up. And you have glass in your hair. And your face."

"It's complicated."

"Stay here, I'm going across the street to get something."

Bucky flicked on the TV while she was gone. It took him a while to find the right channel, but eventually he landed on a segment about the evening's debacle. They said it was a robbery gone wrong. They weren't saying much about what actually happened, just that they were looking for a long dark-haired man with Bucky's height and weight. There was an interview with the bartender. Four people had died, six were injured, and the bar was destroyed. Darcy came back with a six pack of beer and a manicure kit.

"I need a haircut." Bucky said.

I'll do it if you tell me what happened."

It was a good five minutes before they got started. First Darcy pulled a chair over to the empty space by the door, then she sat Bucky down and put the oversized T-shirt she wore to sleep around his neck. Then she wrapped the edge of her long-sleeve around her hand and told him to close his eyes as she shook out his hair, trying to get every last piece of glass out. They landed on the floor, and Bucky reminded himself not to walk around barefoot.

"How much do you want me to cut? Your hair's almost as long as Thor's. You want to go short like Steve, or you want me to leave it a little long-ish?"

"Do what you want, just make it as different as you can so I'm less recognizable."

"Mohawk?"

"No Mohawk."

"So what happened? You're not like, seriously injured or anything, are you?" she asked, pulling out the nail scissors and snipping away.

"I was in the bar, getting a drink, and three people with guns came in and started shooting. The police say it was a robbery gone wrong, but it seemed like more of a hostage situation to me. I took care of it. Then I panicked and ran."

"Well at least you helped save some lives."

Bucky shrugged and winced a little as his shoulders moved. Darcy ignored him and kept cutting. He didn't know if she had ever done this before so he held as still as he possibly could.

"Your ear is bleeding. Like, a lot. You might need stitches."

"Can you sew?"

"You have got to be kidding me." Darcy replied. Bucky cracked a small smile, even though he knew she couldn't see it. Ten minutes later, she said she was done, and he stood up slowly so that she could continue brushing off the tufts of hair on his shirt.

"I'll be fine after I go take a shower and get clean. Thanks for the haircut," he said, looking in the mirror and reaching up to touch it. It was shorter than it had been before, but a bit longer than Steve's, and he thought Darcy did a pretty good job, considering. He felt a little better already.

After his shower, Bucky spent some time holding wads of toilet paper up against his ear until it stopped bleeding, taking care not to look at the bloody rags they left in the toilet bowl before he flushed them down. He came out of the bathroom and saw that this room only had one big double bed instead of two twins. Darcy was already flopped back against the mess of pillows, the TV remote next to her thigh as she played with her phone. She didn't look up when he came in, but squealed in indignation when he flopped next to her onto the bed, nearly knocking her off to the floor.

"There's enough room for both of us!" she protested. He flashed her a mischievous grin and took the remote. After a moment of hesitation, she smiled back. He flipped through the channels but couldn't find anything he wanted to watch, so he turned it off.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he asked Darcy, who had just put her phone down. She shrugged.

"Sure. I don't know where you think we'll go, we're kind of in the middle of nowhere…"

She hopped off the bed and slipped her feet back into her boots, grabbing the key card and slipping it into her pocket. Bucky held the door open for her as he shrugged on his jacket, and they walked out into the cool air. He looked around and saw that it was largely empty and quiet, the distant sound of the freeway the only thing breaking the silence.

"Come on," he said, reaching out a hand. Darcy took it, following him to the stairs. They went up to the top floor and kept going, until they reached a metal door that said ROOF ACCESS, STAFF ONLY. The door was locked, but Bucky pulled it off with a loud snap. His bionic arm could be useful sometimes. He pulled the door open and the two of them walked out onto the slightly slanted roof, nothing above them but the starry night sky. He hadn't taken Darcy up here to stargaze, however.

"This way, I want to show you something," he said, walking right up to the edge, on the side that overlooked the parking lot in between the motel and the Applebee's next door, which had only two cars parked in front of it. They really were in the middle of nowhere; this was little more than a truck stop.

"Come on!" he said again, looking back to see Darcy still a good few yards behind him, not even close to where he was standing.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked.

"No, I'm afraid of death! You're literally on the edge, if someone looks up they're gonna think you're suicidal and trying to jump! Wait. Are you?"

"I wouldn't bring you up here to watch if I was. Come over here, I promise I won't let you fall." Bucky said, holding out his hand. She came over and took it, walking over to where he was standing. He pointed with his metal arm across the parking lot and into the woods beyond.

"Look there. In the trees. Wait for it…there!" he said. Darcy squinted, and he knew she had to have seen the sudden movement of a dark figure behind the bushes. There was a dim light moving, someone was out there with a flashlight or a cell phone.

"What are you trying to show me?"

"We're being watched. Well, probably not you. They're keeping an eye on me," he said, letting go of her hand. She took a few steps back until she was a safe distance away from the ledge and sat down, cross-legged. He stayed where he was, watching.

"SHIELD?"

"They were at the last motel we were at too."

"Well, I mean, you did steal Captain America's motorcycle."

"I borrowed my friend Steve's bike."

Darcy gave him a look and he sat down next to her with a sigh. He was very tired.

"I don't know what to do. Sometimes I wish they had never found me. I could just be asleep forever."

"I bet Steve wishes sometimes that he could stay in the ice too. You can talk about it with him."

"Steve wasn't brainwashed. Steve wasn't the Winter Soldier. Steve will never – " he trailed off, continuing the thought inside his head instead of saying it aloud.

"I know this is going to sound really dumb, but where are we going? Do you even know? Are we just running away from New York? Because you can only go so far on Steve's motorcycle, and even still SHIELD will follow you. Dr. Banner went all the way to India and they found him there and brought him back."

"How much of what they did to me was them and how much of it was me?" Bucky asked, for what felt like the thousandth time. He needed to know. He wanted to blame them, but he knew that he couldn't. It was his fault. It was his hands that had killed so many. His eyes that had peered through the sight of a rifle just before taking out the bad guy. Only the bad guys were not bad and the good guys were not good and it was hard to tell what was going on but he knew that there was a fundamental difference between shooting a soldier who had enlisted to go to war and shooting an elderly French politician through his dining room window as he ate with his wife and six year old daughter one clear autumn night.

"Hey." Darcy said, tugging on his arm. He was jerked back to the present and suddenly aware of the scattering droplets of rain falling on his face.

"We should get inside before it starts pouring," she said. He let her use his arm to keep herself from slipping as she clambered to his feet, and they held onto each other until they got inside. Darcy huddled under the covers and turned on the TV again, this time finding an old Julia Roberts romantic comedy while Bucky grabbed a pillow and blanket and headed over to the armchair.

"The bed's big enough for both of us, if you want." Darcy mumbled, her voice muffled by blankets. Her dark hair spread around the pillow and hid half of her face.

"I'm good here, thanks," he said, and tried to lose himself in the movie. All he could see was that six year old girl's face when her father's face fell right into his dinner plate, his brains splattered on the wall opposite and blood beginning to drip into his soup.

"G'night Bucky," Darcy said, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Sleep well, Darcy," he replied, knowing he would not be able to do the same.

The next morning when Bucky woke up the sun had not yet risen and he had a dull ache where the back of his neck met his shoulders. He got up and lay down on the edge of the bed, on top of the covers in his plain white t-shirt and jeans. He fell back asleep almost instantly. Thankfully, this time he did not dream, or if he did, he didn't remember them.

"Hey, wake up!"

Darcy was pushing at his metal arm, which lay across her midsection, effectively trapping her. As soon as Bucky realized, he moved out of the way and she climbed out of bed, walking over to open the door.

"Did someone knock?" he asked, sitting up. Darcy nodded, and he wondered how he hadn't woken at the noise. She peeked through the peephole and turned to Bucky.

"It's Natasha," she said. He supposed he should be surprised, but somehow if anyone was going to come for him he knew it would be her. Darcy let her in. Natasha wore street clothes, and raised an eyebrow when she saw the rumpled sheets and sleep-mussed hair the two of them shared. Bucky was suddenly conscious of the fact that he hadn't shaved in days, even though Natasha had seen him in all manner of disguise over the years.

"We need to talk," she said, without preamble. He slipped his feet into his shoes and grabbed his jacket on the way out.

"Fine, go do your super spy stuff, I'll be here, alone in a crappy motel room watching morning news shows tell me about the dangers of cyberbullying," Darcy said as the door shut.

"Cyber what?" he said, following Natasha down the stairs.

"She's a little young for you, James," Natasha said. He could hear the amusement in her voice and chose not to respond.

"We're losing the SHIELD tail first. Put your seatbelt on," Natasha said, leading the way to a non-descript silver sedan in the parking lot. She tossed a cell phone on his lapt and told him to text Darcy.

"Tell her to take Steve's bike and meet us at the bar just off exit 37."

"That's over twenty miles away. Does she even know how to – "

Natasha swerved to make a sharp right turn onto a bumpy country road. It took him a minute to figure out how to write a text and another to learn how to send it. Once he was finished, Natasha had lost the black SHIELD SUV completely, and was heading down the highway.

"How's Steve?" he asked her.

"Worried about you."

Bucky sat in silence for a while. Natasha had never had a problem with quiet. When not on a mission, she was a woman of few words.

"How did you switch sides?" he asked her finally.

"I let Clint catch me. In Prague, about ten years ago. His orders were to kill me, but he believed me when I said there was red in my ledger I'd like to wipe out."

"How true is that?"

"It's also true that the Soviet Union had fallen apart and I would rather align myself with SHILED than continue working freelance."

"They put me on ice in '85. Something went wrong. I think I remember sometimes, but then I'm not sure."

"Perhaps that's for the best."

Natasha parked right next to Steve's lovingly restored motorcycle, now a little dusty and chipped. The bar was little more than a shack, and it was just after noon, so it was almost completely empty. Darcy was sitting at a booth by herself, messing with her phone in front of an untouched drink that almost glowed pink.

Natasha slid in next to Darcy, making her jump a little, and Bucky sat across from them both.

"Should rename you Ninja Girl," Darcy muttered, doing something that made her phone beep loudly.

"I didn't know you knew how to text," she told Bucky, putting her phone down and taking a sip of her drink. She made a face and pushed it over to Natasha, who shook her head and passed it to Bucky.

"I figured it out. How did you know it wasn't Natasha? I used her phone."

"She texts like a teenager. You actually spelled out all the words."

"Texting allows you to convey content and tone without losing velocity." Natasha said. Darcy rolled her eyes affectionately, and Bucky took a small sip of the toxic drink in front of him. It was an explosion of sweetness that made him feel like his tongue was coated in sugar. He resisted the urge to spit it out.

"What is that?"

"I don't know. She gave it to me." Darcy said, pointing at the middle-aged bartender who looked like she was not happy to be here, or alive in general.

"You need to decide, James." Natasha said. He knew what she meant, it was basically the exact same thing Darcy had said last night. He couldn't keep running away, he didn't even know where he was going.

"SHIELD is not like our previous employer. They will not force you to do as they wish. They will manipulate you to do as they wish. But there is room for negotiation."

"You're saying I have no choice."

"I am saying I see no other choice for you. We were made for this. The better part of your life, and almost all of mine have been dedicated to this particular, specialized line of work. Without a mission, we are useless."

"No matter who you work for it's not gonna be perfect, but sometimes you have to choose the lesser of two evils," Darcy said. Natasha looked at her.

"I was a Poli Sci major, I know that basically everyone sucks. You gotta go with who sucks the least, and right now SHIELD's probably doing okay. Fury's kinda scary, true, but I think he does what he thinks is best for the greater good."

Bucky looked at Natasha, who gave him the tiniest of shrugs, the side of her mouth quirking up a little bit. He wondered when the last time she laughed was. She seemed more at peace than he had ever seen her before, at least from what he could remember of their past together. Sure, he was broken, but so was everyone else. He owed it to Steve, at least. He had spent so much of their childhood protecting him and keeping him out of trouble, and then during the war Steve had rescued him and kept him safe. They would watch each other's backs, and do everything in their power to protect each other.

"You okay with cutting this road trip short?" he asked Darcy.

"Oh yeah. I rode that motorcycle here all by myself, you know. I'm pretty sure I broke about five laws and almost killed myself a few times. Do you know what Steve's face would look like if I came back and told him I ruined his bike? I'm over it. Let's go back to New York."

"You heard her," Bucky said, and Natasha smiled.


End file.
